


Rapprochement

by Dadbeat



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Brief mentions of soul sex i guess, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Tentacles, just sad boys having sad healing sex as you do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24065332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dadbeat/pseuds/Dadbeat
Summary: Things will never be as they were before. The sundering broke them both, in its own way.Emet-Selch did not think this state of affairs could ever be enough. But, perhaps, it is.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Original Character(s), Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Rapprochement

He is not the same. He knows. But if Emet-Selch squints, he can almost pretend.

“You’re thinking about him, again.” Altruoix’s voice is muffled from the pillows. He is turned away, unable to see Emet’s face, but can feel the ascian’s vessel tensing, minutely shifting as he broods.

The Warrior rolls over. Callused fingers entwine with his own. The man gives him a soft, sad smile. “It’s alright to miss him.”

Altruoix does not labor under any illusions. He shares Euclid’s soul, this is true - and aetherically, for all intents and purposes, that makes them one in the same.

But it is not that simple.

In reality, Euclid is dead - killed in the sundering, torn to pieces like all the other ancients, save three. What was left of him had been wiped clean, filed to a sharp point, and suffused with light. A weapon, set upon former friends and lovers alike in service to that dissident act of creation.

A weapon that, despite it all, still managed to resemble its origin. That, in fits and starts, can glimpse what had been lost. 

A weapon that wishes it could be what Hades truly yearns for.

It’s the Warrior’s turn to brood now, those sour thoughts becoming his own, reminding him that true happiness is ever elusive. Neither of them can escape the old hurts, long-festering puerile abscesses and gnarled scar tissue criss-crossing both their beings, the pain dulled to a constant ache but always threatening to spike, threatening to drive them to their knees when the wounds are aggravated.

Altruoix curls, pressing his face into Emet-Selch’s hair. Tears threatening to spill are brushed away by the silken locks. 

“Dream of him,” he says, struggling to keep his breathing even, “and this pale imitation will provide what succor it can.”

Altruoix's insecurity bordered on pathological, but he had never openly admitted this inadequacy. That terrible truth, one great oozing sore neither could - until now - properly name or address, though they both recognized it.

Altruoix would never be who the ascian bonded with when the world was whole. 

Emet-Selch has no reply to this. How can he? It is a wound that will never close - the Warrior merely _existing_ is a knife to it, a constant stabbing reminder of that final wretched act. 

Euclid, beautiful, impulsive, brilliant, arrogant Auditor, betrayer and betrayed, begging for forgiveness. Reaching for Hades even as She shattered their bond, his soul, _everything_.

Anger and indignation swirl at Emet-Selch’s core. That ancient rage directed at that most ancient enemy. That most ancient mistake. How dare Hydaelyn ask what she did of him? Doomed to live and die in agony, only to forget over and over, and now that he _remembers_...

But beyond that hot spike is a roiling nausea, fearful concern mingling with an emotion he dare not voice, can scarce recognize after a dozen millenia of heartbreak. To name it would be to accept what he so vehemently denied throughout their time on the First.

Euclid is dead, yes, but his remnant still suffers, trembling in his vessel’s arms, gutted over _its own existence_ . A remnant that, _somehow_ , has become **_very dear_ ** to Hades. More than dear.

Though he cannot bear to give those feelings name, he acts on them all the same.

“Foolish creature.” In the dimness of the bedroom, Emet-Selch’s eyes practically glow, twin pools of harvest moonlight illuminating his half-smirk. He shifts forward, their long legs entangling together beneath the bedsheets as he moves.

“That ‘pale imitation’ has quite thoroughly enraptured me.” his head tilts down as lips wander, tracing down the elezen’s elegant neck, teeth worrying at the junction between it and his shoulder. “Though somehow you have forgotten despite me practically _living_ in your bed.”

His hand slips from Altruoix’s, though not before giving it a squeeze. It drags up, then back down the Warrior’s body, touch featherlight as he traces the musculature beneath sallow flesh. When he encounters a scar, he traces those too, though the actions are slower. Gentle. Reverent.

Euclid had been a pretty thing - wrought into existence as Art, an immaculate sculpt hiding the passionate, yet fragile soul beneath. Altruoix can not hope to compete, his form stretched to its limits in the mere act of _survival,_ of providing what protection it can to what remains within. Cracked marble has loosed chunks, clattering to his feet as the world looks on, impassively, wielding a hammer.

**_No more._ **

Gilded claws snatch the implement. It turns to ash, scattering as those same claws move to grasp at the Warrior’s fractured figure. Each ruining is a story - tales of pain, yes, but also of pleasure, of love. They all leave their mark, even as the soul forgets in endless recycling - a dull ache that throbs alongside the beat of his heart.

The claws pause their movements - pondering as their owner’s body curls about that statuesque form, a dark embrace blotting out white stone. Though he lacks lips, Hades’s face presses to Altruoix’s as sharp fingertips click together.

Each ruining a story. His. Theirs.

More could be written. Mortar, _hope_ to fill those gaps that had been chipped away. A remaking, as they turned together. Endured together.

Emet-Selch clambers across Altruoix’s form, draping atop while pulling him to a seated position as he claims the man’s mouth with his own. The movement is soft, though undeniably tinged with need as Altruoix responds, tongues tangling as his hands cling to Emet-Selch’s hips. Tears drip down to join the dampness already smeared on his partner’s face, pattering softly onto his bare torso. 

He breaks the kiss, bringing his thumb across one high cheekbone, cutting through the salty rivulets.

“It pains me to see you so ignorant of your own charms.” His tone is unbearably sad. “To see something so beautiful be immolated by self-doubt.” 

Despite that sorrow, plush lips quirk upwards into a smirk. He leans down, pressing them to the elezen’s ear. The next words are low and tinged with desire, leaving no doubt as to the intent.

“Perhaps I must remind you why you have so completely captivated me.”

He receives no disagreement, the Warrior shuddering with the words, grip tightening as his nose and cheeks go pink.

At Amaurot's end, words had failed them. Broke them. It was fitting that they now spoke best in the language of bodies.

Slowly, Emet-Selch prises Altruoix's hands from his hips as he slides backwards, pushing down the bedsheets as he lowers himself. His own hands go back to tracing the other, this time dragging lower. Lower.

He examines the dip of the narrow join between hip and thigh, fingers prodding the flesh, eliciting soft gasps from the man above him as he continues his thoughts.

"Always so eager to throw yourself away in service to The Cause," he says, eyeing the spiraling white lines up his legs. "Always so eager to please the _wretches_ around you who do not deserve the kindness."

Sadness gives way to ever present bitterness. That Eorzea should be so ignorant of this gift. They were _gods_ . This world was _nothing_ before them.

This Altruoix knew, and yet insisted on being that savior. That hero. It should have enraged Emet-Selch.

It does not.

Fingers hook themselves around the band of Altruoix's pants, pulling them downward to expose his half-hardness to the air. It stirs as Emet-Selch's face nears, warm breath ghosting across it as he savors the heady scent.

He cups him gently, and before his better instincts can stop himself, he speaks a final time.

"And yet you give it and I-"

_I adore it._

"I cannot imagine you any other way."

_I adore you._

Two different people, two different lives. Both utterly frustrating. Both utterly _wonderful_.

His tongue curls around the man's steadily growing arousal, relishing the feeling as Altruoix's body reacts - he whimpers as his cock stiffens with each long wet lick. Only when he is thoroughly hard, pulsing with need and dripping with saliva does Emet-Selch deign to fully take him into his mouth, swallowing him whole as he presses his nose into soft white hair.

That first swallow has the Warrior moaning loudly, twisting one hand into the bedspread as the second winds into Emet-Selch's hair, pressing against his scalp. 

It takes but a moment for him to adjust, mouth locking around wetted skin to suckle before dragging plush lips languidly up and down Altruoix’s length, the man’s hips bobbing in time with the movement.

The noises Altruoix makes in response to his ministrations are _delightful_ . He was always so quiet, content to let his friends do the talking, but now? He _sings_ beneath Emet-Selch, panted cries with every bob of his head, every lap of that sinful tongue as he clears the gathering pre from his tip.

He has Altruoix bottomed out in his throat, and is reaching to fondle his balls when abruptly, the fist in his hair _pulls_ , and Emet-Selch's mouth is yanked unceremoniously off of the length. The elezen's pale eyes gleam from within the reddened flush of his face as he tilts Emet-Selch’s head upwards, examining him wantingly. _Demandingly_.

Fangs slice at his lips as they meet once more, Emet-Selch pulled upright to facilitate the hungry kiss. Altruoix's free hand dives into his smallclothes, palm grinding his erection urgently. When he moans into the Warrior's mouth with the contact, he can feel Altruoix's lips curling in a wicked smile.

"I could use-" the words are clipped, heavy breaths overpowering his voice, "more reminding." That nimble tongue laps at the blood welling inside his mouth, pleased yet apologetic with the wound before pulling away.

" **Fill me with it**."

Emet-Selch is no stranger to his partner requesting things in bed, but this is no request. This is an _order_ , and the petulance in his tone is enough to send him spasming against Altruoix's touch, twitching as dampness slicks down turgid flesh and fingers both. 

Through the rapidly gathering haze he wonders if the other knows what he does here. How _similar_ he is to what was. He would have to find out.

He relaxes against Altruoix with a soft sigh as a tendril unfurls to snake up the Warrior's inner thigh. It caresses both cock and balls cheekily before moving to his backside, and the hand inside his pants _jumps_ at the contact before fully gripping him, a callused thumb swiping at his slit.

**_Two can play at that game._ **

Altruoix cannot yet communicate past the barriers of their souls, not truly - but the thought slams into Emet-Selch all the same, a filthy groan betraying how much he enjoys this assertiveness, this pushback to his teasing. 

**_Do go on, then._ ** A taunting reply to achingly familiar actions. He knows Altruoix does not remember that part of before - he'd told him as much, one particularly bad night over an empty bottle - but the soul supplies what his mind does not. As if to spark further recollection Emet-Selch finds himself falling back into that well-worn dynamic. 

"First tell me," he murmurs, trying to keep the desperate arousal from his voice as the Warrior nearly tears the smallclothes from him. "How much you want this. How much you want _me._ " 

He further relaxes hold on his true self, the air growing thick and warm with aether, and is rewarded with Altruoix's low, wanton moan and another jolt of pleasure from his groin as that hand pumps once, twice.

"How - _ahh_ \- bold of you to make such demands." Altruoix is not quite as successful as himself at keeping his composure, but he tries, and the mere effort stokes that need higher, makes the Warrior's touch nearly unbearable.

"You say the people do not appreciate me, but I’m always rewarded for my work." Altruoix slides into Emet-Selch's lap, straddling him and adjusting his grip so that he may grab them both.

Though the hitching of his breath as skin slicks skin betrays how terribly aroused he also is, the elezen nonetheless pushes on.

"I'll tell you," he purrs, flashing a grin with much too many teeth, " _after_ you’ve readied me."

Emet-Selch abandons words, choosing to respond by sandwiching his tendril into the cleft of Altruoix's backside, grinding between plush flesh and interrupting any further sass. The aetheric appendage swells with power, petrichor and floral notes wafting as his intent transmits straight to the Warrior's core. The keening cry that follows has him chuckling darkly, sharpening nails scraping across the other's chest before grabbing his chin.

"I only serve the worthy, Hero. Fret not; you will take what is offered, and it _will_ be sufficient."

Altruoix's entrance is already fluttering, eager to be attended to, and Emet-Selch eager to provide. Already slippery with magic, it presses inside, wetly squishing as it wrests the hole open. 

He nearly loses hold of Altruoix’s chin as the elezen arches back, bucking against the penetration. His eyes roll backwards, mouth hanging open. Emet-Selch himself struggles to rein in his own response - Altruoix's involuntary clenching rubbing roughly against that scrap of _essence_ , his own soul caressing and caressed as his probing goes further, further, until the full thickness opens the innermost parts of Altruoix to him.

Perching himself upon that knife’s edge of pleasure the tendril undulates slowly, thoroughly slicking the Warrior’s insides with aether while feeding his own debauched need. Each ripple stretches the other further, though he is careful to avoid that _one_ spot, the impatient frustration coloring Altruoix’s cries the litany that steadily turns the fire in his own belly into a rolling inferno.

He deigns to touch it at the very end, a mere brush as he purrs into Altruoix’s ear. The other’s hand motions have long desynchronized, Emet-Selch’s preparations driving him to complete distraction, able to do little other than mewl for more. The tendril oozing against his prostate is enough to bring him back to his senses even as the pressure undoes him, and with a snarl, Altruoix _yanks_ the appendage out.

The shock of the cool air has Emet-Selch sucking in breath, the slickness coating the freed tendril now congealing on its velvet surface as it twists listlessly, demanding to be touched, to be engulfed again. His own trembling hand obliges, pumping once, twice, dragging what pleasure he can from his own grasp before guiding it to his weeping, neglected length.

But before he can his hand is caught. Welts bloom beneath the fingers on his wrist as the elezen drags Emet-Selch across his nethers before sinking down, filling himself _full_ until he is sitting, impaled, in his lap.

For a long moment Emet-Selch's cognizance fails, unable to _think_ \- their souls _brush_ as Altruoix's ass _clings_ to him and there is naught but absolute b̴̺̑̑͝l̴̲̾̈i̷͎͋͛s̴͖̮͓̃͠ș̷͍̋͊͂ in the embrace. He is grateful that Altruoix does not move immediately - merely sighing and adjusting himself so that he may embrace Emet-Selch fully. The mere motion is enough for him to see stars, every pulse of Altruoix's insides drawing sharp jolts of physical pleasure so intense he struggles to breathe.

"Zodiark's mercy, you are _so tight_ ," he moans. Altruoix merely whimpers in response, eyes squeezed shut as he savors the intrusion. His erection is sandwiched between them both, smearing his need across both their bellies, but the Warrior seems unconcerned with its neglect - finally he has what he wants and all other things are afterthoughts.

His lips seek the Architect's, and Emet-Selch obliges, eagerly capturing them in his mouth once more. Unlike earlier these movements are slow - softer than the swift, carnal kisses shared in the heat of their often frantic couplings. Those movements were rapid - nearly panicked - as though each feared the other would disappear at any moment. 

This is an ancient kiss, with two impossibly old creatures rediscovering themselves and each other, both knowing they have all the time in the world.

He begins moving first - little rolls of his hips into that sinful heat while their languid dance of tongues continues unabated. He clings to the back of Altruoix's head, fingers entangled in the man's long braid. Every so often his sharpened nails catch scalp, and the leaking arousal against him twitches, indicating just how pleasurable the touch must be for the elezen when coupled with the stretch of his insides. Soon Altruoix’s movements match his - though their position means Emet-Selch is now largely at the mercy of the man riding atop him.

Though he tries, he cannot raise his hips high enough to stay sheathed when Altruoix decides to sit up, nearly removing him entirely before dropping back again, the controlled pistoning dragging each moment of pleasure to nearly painful lengths, leaving his vessel teetering on the edge of overstimulation. For his part, he gives as good as he gets - Altruoix can only control the pace, and he angles himself so that each long stroke means he lingers across the elezen’s most sensitive places. Their combined ministrations have them warbling a duet, common tongue forgotten as they moan lust-soaked declarations to each other in Duskwight and Garlean.

Their chorus blends together with the wet slap of skin on skin; with Altruoix’s ecstatic cries as Emet-Selch’s teeth tear into a long, tapered ear; with his own low groans when the Warrior scores deep crescents into his skin as he braces himself each time he rises. The few walls left between them melt away as they move towards their peak together. 

When Altruoix slams down for a final time, his brilliant soul’s edges blurring and dripping into Emet-Selch like pearlescent ink splashing black water, he cannot help but fill them back. They meld fully, barriers dissolved beneath a deluge of quicksilver, and neither can rightly tell where each's pleasure ends and the other's begins.

Altruoix falls first, his insides _strangling_ Emet-Selch's cock while his own sandwiched arousal shudders to completion. Cum paints both their stomachs glistening white and with their beings joined Emet-Selch feels that emptying as surely as if it were his own. 

His cry joins Altruoix's, alien chimes thrumming beneath the voice of his vessel as he tops the Warrior right back up, aether and jism overflowing out from their coupling. Hearts pounding in tandem they sit, entwined, in a puddle of starlight.

\-----

  
  


“You’ve ruined the sheets again.” Altruoix’s voice is muffled from the pillows. They’re still joined, back to front, while Emet-Selch’s essence cocoons them in nesting tendrils.  
  
It’s no Amaurot, but it is Home.  
  
Altruoix has weaved himself into the mass, grasping as many of the appendages as he can to his curled form while Emet-Selch watches both their chests rise and fall in perfect synchronicity.

That familiar soul twinkles, steel blue peaking through obscuring light. _I’ve been here all along,_ it whispers. _Did you really think She could keep me from you?_

Somewhere, Euclid and Hytholdaeus both are laughing, he is sure of it.

“...They were hideous, hero,” he replies, after a pause to collect his thoughts. “The bed is better off without them.”

It’s just long enough a pause for Altruoix to notice.

“Gods,” Altruoix whines, “please don’t be brooding.” He pulls the velveteen mass of flesh up to his face, the beginnings of a beard tickling them while his body squishes itself against Emet-Selch’s. “I have not the strength for a round two.” Automatically, as an afterthought, a meek “sorry” follows from his kiss-swollen lips. 

**_Oh, Not again._ ** This mercurial _idiocy_ would spiral if one of them did not stop.

“Apologize any more,” Emet-Selch grunts, arms winding tighter around the Warrior, “and I may have to test that claim.” As if to belabor the point, he gives one last cheeky thrust before he slips from Altruoix’s ass.

The Warrior’s head flops backwards, and Emet-Selch can tell the man’s patience wears thin. Not that it had stopped him before, but -

“ _Fuck’s sake,_ **_Hades_ ** _._ ” The use of his name has Emet-Selch closing his jaw with an audible click.

“Keep this up and I will have my cock in your mouth _again_ even as I die from exhaustion. Go to sleep so we may do so _rested_.”

With finality, both pillow and tendril are pulled over Altruoix’s head.

“I thought you _liked_ to rest.”

For once, Emet-Selch does not attempt to argue further. After all, he could not argue against this truth, any more than he could argue with the way Altruoix sighs in complete _contentment_ as he drifts away - despite readying another retort in the event Emet-Selch chanced to speak again. Nor could he deny how irresistable the pull is to slip into oblivion himself, utterly sated and inexorably linked with the creature beside him.

A creature that is surely Euclid - but not. A creature who now sleeps soundly in his - Hades’s - arms, tension gone as a smile ghosts that dour face. His moonlight hair pours into the spaces between their bodies, length framing them both as they lie, slotted perfectly against each other.

Different. Same. Yet each as beloved as before.

**Author's Note:**

> 5 months for under 4k stupidly hard words. i am now ready to accept my 'world's slowest and okayest smut writer' award
> 
> a huge thanks to the convocation discord for enabling my dumb hc ass, esp shesha/chie/bread/possum. you guys are the best.


End file.
